Lucky Number Seven
by Pearl Gatsby
Summary: Number seven on First and Order orders pizza again. Rey groans when she sees the address, remembering how they didn't bother to tip; but that's nothing compared to how she feels when she's been standing outside the door for two solid minutes, knocking and calling the cell number she has. Nobody answers. :: pizza delivery/college AU
1. Chapter 1

**Surprise, it's fluff! Pizza delivery AU from one of those glorious long trope lists. It started as a simple scene and then just kept turning into a longer story that I could not stop writing and thinking about for a whole week. It's three chapters in all, and rating will remain a high T for occasional swears and suggestive hints.**

 **Had to make them closer in age for my plot to work; further liberties have been taken with regards to the details of pizza delivery and also intramural college ice hockey. Hope y'all don't mind.**

 **.**

When Rey pulls into a parking spot, her headlights illuminate the number beside the door up ahead: 7. _Oh good. That was easy_. She throws the car into park and reaches into the passenger seat for the warm Velcro carrying case that contains two pizzas and an order of cheese sticks, relieved that at least one thing is going well. Until she got this job Rey didn't have the slightest idea just how many apartment complexes were in her college town or how random their systems of numbering the units could be. It was nice to pull into a new parking lot and find her destination immediately.

There's a thin dusting of snow on the ground, though it's actually warmer than the last couple of Octobers in this town. _Everything's a tradeoff_ , Rey thinks as she closes her car door with her hip. The work she did the past two years at Plutt's Auto Repair was more interesting than this, and something she was good at; but the shop wasn't heated unless Plutt himself was in, which was not often. At least delivering pizza guarantees that several times on the hour she'll get to spend a few minutes thawing out in the warm kitchen—plus she gets paid, on schedule, a fair wage that matches exactly with the hours she's worked.

She ascends the low staircase to the elevated sidewalk outside the first floor of apartments and knocks on the door of apartment 7. It's dark inside; but it's not unusual for people to watch Netflix or whatever with the lights off, so she's not concerned. She shifts from one foot to another, trying to keep warm. _It's not that cold_ , she reminds herself—but she hasn't had a chance to work on her car's heater since it gave out last weekend, so all week it's just been her pizza keeping her warm.

Rey knocks again, impatient. _Where is this guy?_ She's pulling her cell phone out, about to call, when she hears someone unlock the door. She glances up—and up—and up. _Wow, he's tall—_ and then her heart skips a beat.

It's _that_ guy. The one from her polisci seminar, the one who looks perpetually grumpy and knows all the material already. It's a small class, only seventeen people registered and about fourteen present on a good day. Rey hasn't spoken to him before, but she's noticed the way the desks are too small for him—how he angles his massive body at sometimes comical diagonals, trying to lounge or find some marginally comfortable position in the chair. The professor likes to call on him at random, whenever she suspects he's not paying attention—but he always jumps right in with an answer good enough for her to move on.

When Rey comes back to earth she realizes she's full-on staring him in the face, and more than that, he looks half-asleep. "Ah, pizza's here," she says quickly, hoisting the case up in a useless shrugging gesture.

He rubs one hand across his face, pushing back the curtain of dark hair that frames it, and briefly closes his eyes, grimacing. "Didn't order a pizza," he grumbles, blinking several times and then looking down at her with a frown.

"But… are you sure?" Rey asks weakly, deflating entirely.

"Yes," he answers, his voice a little clearer. He starts to say something else, but Rey accidentally cuts him off as she frantically checks her phone.

"But isn't this—corner of First Street and Order Boulevard—where the hell _am_ I?"

"That's right."

"And you're number seven."

"Two."

"Two?" Rey points at the number next to his door— _clearly_ a 7. Well, a kind of lumpy, fancy 7, but a—

The guy peers around his doorway, spotting the number in question. "Stupid nail," he mumbles, placing a finger on the number and rotating it, at which point Rey sees the empty hole where the nail should be and the weird 7 becomes a clear 2.

"Well shit," Rey says automatically, blushing when the guy looks at her again with mirth in his eyes. "Sorry."

"Seven's there," he points down the walkway.

"Thanks. Sorry to bother you." Rey ducks her head and walks away, not waiting for him to close the door. She's made mistakes before, but none so mortifying as waking up the hot guy from polisci. _Real cute, Rey,_ she thinks as a redheaded frat bro answers the door at number 7, accepting his pizza without so much as a thank you (and certainly not a tip). _From your black nonskid shoes to your scratchy blue-plastic windbreaker, you sure know how to make an impression_. Of course she's never even _spoken_ to the guy before—so it's silly, to be so embarrassed. _With a body like that, he probably has a girlfriend anyway._

 **.**

Dr. Organa counts them off, one to eight. Rey is in the first half of the class, and she waits without much interest until Dr. Organa counts the other half of the class, one to eight, and _that guy_ is also a seven."Alright, find your partner and then I'll give you further instructions," Dr. Organa calls, and Rey feels her cheeks heat up again as she turns to see him watching her. He indicates an empty desk on his side of the room, and she picks up her things and moves.

"Hi," Rey says weakly as she drops down into the new desk.

"Actually, seven's over there. I'm a two," he says, his mouth curving into a smirk. He's teasing, reminding her of the pizza mix-up.

"Oh shut up," Rey grumbles, turning to wait for Dr. Organa's instructions. Momentarily, she gives them—they're revving up to discuss a legal document, and she's written a set of preliminary questions for them to answer. The questions go up on the projector and Rey turns back to her partner.

"So, pizza girl—"

"Rey," she corrects quickly.

"Ben," he offers, briefly glancing at the stapled copy of the document in his hands. He's still reclined back in his desk in that way of his, which gives the impression that he's leaning away from her, bored. "Anyway, this is all pretty straightforward. Question one is a no, since it's defined in—"

"Are you repeating this class?" She doesn't mean to ask it like that—it comes out so rude—but she's frustrated with the ease he has with the material.

"In a manner of speaking," Ben answers, rolling his eyes.

"What?"

Ben leans up into a sitting position, though Rey can tell his legs are cramped this way. "I grew up on this stuff. I mean literally." He nods at Dr. Organa, who's approaching them now.

"Any questions yet, Miss Smith? Mr. Solo?"

"We're good for now, thanks," Ben answers politely, pulling a face as soon as she turns away to check on another pair.

Rey frowns. "But I had a—"

"I had to take this _specific_ class to graduate," he continues, "but I've actually heard it all before. She used to read me case studies for bedtime stories."

Rey does a double-take, looking between Ben and Dr. Organa, searching for the resemblance.

"I favor my father," he explains.

"Dr. Organa is your _mom_? That's—"

"Awful. I know. Can't escape her. I thought you were her, the other night—sometimes she just _shows up_ at my apartment, like she doesn't see me every Tuesday and Thursday." He says it with a tone of agonized complaint, as if having a mother who loves him is the worst thing in the world.

"That's so nice," Rey says softly, looking up at Dr. Organa again. She's smiling at another group of students, a network of fine lines appearing at the corners of her eyes. She used to be gorgeous, Rey can tell—now she's what Rey might call "dignified," not a dazzling youthful beauty but someone whose spark shines through in spite of her age. To have such a brilliant, beautiful woman as a mother.

Ben scoffs, reclining in his desk again. "Oh yeah," he answers sarcastically.

What an asshole. "Look, _Ben_ ," Rey grits her teeth, "before you dig yourself a deeper hole, let me tell you straight-up how fucking _lucky_ you are. Now help me answer these stupid questions."

He seems a little surprised by her tone, but then he lifts the document up again, turning his attention to the questions on the screen. For the rest of class, they speak only about course material.

 **.**

Number seven on First and Order orders pizza again. Rey groans when she sees the address, remembering how they didn't bother to tip; but that's nothing compared to how she feels when she's been standing outside the door for two solid minutes, knocking and calling the cell number she has. Nobody answers either.

"Hey, I think they just left," a voice calls out from a few apartments down. "They—oh, it's you," Ben adds as he gets closer, jogging down the sidewalk toward her. "I was out here getting stuff out of the car and they came out shouting about beer."

"They _left_?" Rey repeats. "They ordered a fucking pizza and _left_?"

"I know. Fucking morons," Ben shrugs. "If it's any consolation, I'm pretty sure they mean to come back."

Rey just groans.

"So what happens now? Do you go back, or—?"

"I think I just wait," Rey says, moving to sit on the low steps that lead up from the parking lot to the sidewalk, resting the pizzas on her lap. She texts her supervisor, just to check.

She doesn't hear Ben walk away; when she looks up, he is still standing there awkwardly, sock-footed and in short sleeves.

"What?"

"I'm sorry. If I offended you in class last week." He scratches idly at his forearm, his eyes on the ground.

Rey bites her lip. After a moment, she answers, "It's fine. It's, like—a normal thing, that you'd feel smothered by your mother. And most people relate to that. I just don't."

"May I?" He indicates the spot on the stairs next to her.

She shrugs.

"Tell me," he says when he sits down. He radiates heat, and she feels small next to his huge body. It's dark, but the complex has decent porch lights, so she can see the intensity of his expression when he leans in to speak to her. He looks sincere—more than he's ever looked in class.

Rey is briefly dazzled by his attention. His face isn't conventionally handsome—his ears are big, his nose is huge, his lips are plump and full—but the combination of his features is nothing less than striking. Her first impression still stands: he's a very attractive man.

"My last name 'Smith' is a placeholder," she explains. "A last name because everyone else has one."

Understanding begins to bloom on his face. "So you're…" 

"I don't have parents—they gave me up. Never got adopted. There's a religion professor in town—I worked on his car in high school—he helps me out sometimes; but he's not cut out to be a father. So it's just me." She shrugs.

"I'm— _really_ sorry," Ben looks away, taking in this information as he stares at the parking lot ahead of them.

"And _I'm_ sorry I dropped that on you. I'm just a regular ray of sunshine, _ha ha_." There's a part of her that hates apologizing for this story, a part of her that feels ashamed to be using her circumstances to embarrass him. But there's also a part of her that thinks he deserves it, just a little.

"No, I asked. Thank you for telling me."

She looks over at him again, taking in his tight athletic shirt and bare feet. "Aren't you cold?"

"Just finished a workout. This feels good." He rolls his shoulders a little; Rey sees the movement of his muscles through the fabric. "Why, are you?"

Rey rubs her hands together on top of the pizza case, which isn't radiating warmth anymore. "I think it's gonna snow again tonight."

"Here," Ben reaches for her hands, cupping them between his. " _Shit!_ How are your hands this cold?"

"My heater's dead, in the car," Rey says wryly, trying to focus on the conversation instead of how nice his hands feel around hers, warm and strong and _gentle_ in a way that's unexpectedly touching. She should probably pull away, but she doesn't. "I haven't gotten around to fixing it."

"I know a good mechanic—"

"I _am_ a good mechanic," Rey cuts him off, "just short on time."

"But you'll get to rest soon?"

Rey snorts. "My evening at work _just_ started."

They get quiet for a moment, and Rey begins to feel self-conscious. It's almost possessive, the way Ben has his hands wrapped around hers, showing no sign of letting go. It's also kind of sweet. "Um," she starts to say, but then a car turns into the lot.

"Here are your good-for-nothing customers," Ben says, nudging her with his elbow. "Absolute fucking morons." They stand, Rey accepting Ben's hand again when he goes to help her up.

"Pizza!" one of the guys in number 7 shouts as he alights from the car.

"Um, yeah," Rey says to her customer. As she maneuvers to open the Velcro of the case she looks back towards Ben, but he's already retreating to his apartment, closing the door behind him.

Over her next few deliveries, she gets cold again. Once on the way back to the store she even passes the street she lives on, but she knows better than to stop at home. For the first time in her life, an honest boss pays her for an honest day's work, and she is absolutely committed to holding up her end of the bargain.

And then there is the moment she pops into the kitchen to collect her next deliveries and the one on top is for a "Ben Solo"—sure enough, he's at apartment 2, corner of First and Order. It sends a little thrill through her, knowing she gets to see him again. She's more than halfway there when it occurs to her he might not be alone—that when he answers the door there'll be a pretty girl standing behind him, or waiting in the next room. _Or a pretty_ guy _, for all I know_.

The "2" next to Ben's door is still upside-down, still a weird "7." Rey casts about for a joke about it, but he opens the door too soon.

"Hey," he greets her.

"Fancy seeing you here," she says, cringing at her own cheeseball joke before she's even finished saying it.

"Just a minute." He closes the door again.

Rey frowns.

In a moment the door opens. "Uh, I should've—come in. For a second? If you want?"

"I'm fine."

"Wait here then," he commands, closing the door.

He seems frazzled, and there's something kind of funny about it, except for the part where Rey is trying to give him the pizza he's _already paid for_ and instead he's _making her wait outside_. The wind picks up, and she shivers—the air is damp. Definitely gonna snow soon. _Maybe he's looking for cash for a tip?_

The door opens suddenly. "Thanks." He grabs for the pizza, setting it down inside and bringing out something else. "Here."

It takes Rey a moment to comprehend, but there's a soft, heavy coat draped around her. It's huge on her—the sleeves hang down almost to her knees—and the collar carries a heavy smell of cologne.

"I had some gloves," he says quickly, "but they'll be way too big. Also I can't find them."

Rey nods, unsure of what to say, clutching the coat to her with her one free hand. It's unexpected, his gesture, but not unwelcome. Except—it's _far_ too much. She opens her mouth to protest.

"You can give it back to me later. After you get your heater fixed."

"But won't you be—?"

"I have plenty of coats. And a working heater."

"It's gonna smell like pizza."

"Then I'll wash it." His face is grave.

"Alright," Rey agrees quietly.

"Here, I'll hold it—slip your arms in," he reaches out again, slipping his hands just under the collar. Rey obeys, swapping the pizza case from hand to hand. The sleeves are of course, on her, too long—but she bunches them up enough to stick them out the ends. The coat is thick and insulated with a logo on the chest; she glances down at it.

"Ice hockey. The club team, not varsity," he explains.

"Right." Rey's voice is barely a squeak. Ben's hands linger at the collar of the jacket, easily holding it closed around her to trap the warmth in. Rey has the impulse to incline her head just so, to kiss his knuckles—but that would be ridiculous, so she doesn't. Instead she takes a careful step back, out of his grasp, out of the thrilling uncertainty of it all. He's giant and warm and _she barely knows him_ but she's wearing his jacket now, and with a stuttered "thank you" she's hurrying back to her car to deliver the other case of pizzas, the ones due to the next complex over.

It isn't until the end of her shift—when she arrives home to a blessedly empty apartment, her roommates who-knows-where—that she slips off the jacket and sees how his name and jersey number are emblazoned on the back of it. "SOLO" it reads, and she laughs at the number beneath—"7."

 **.**

The next time Rey goes to Dr. Organa's class, Ben takes the seat next to her. They don't have assigned desks, but they've all become creatures of habit; so it's strange to see someone disrupt the usual flow of the classroom. Nobody says anything, including Ben, though a few people look twice at him. Dr. Organa gives him a curious smile; he keeps his face stoic, and soon her lecture begins.

At the end of class, just after Dr. Organa dismisses them, Ben reaches over and hands Rey something wrapped in tissue paper. "Until you fix your heater," he says in a low voice.

Rey pauses in gathering her things to unwind the tissue paper. It's a brand new pair of women's gloves, in a beautiful sable color; they look like they're made of leather.

"I—I have gloves," she stammers, embarrassed. "I just didn't bring them the other night."

"Now you have another pair," he says, standing to leave.

"Ben," she says, trying to get his attention, but he's already out of the classroom. Grabbing her bag, she darts into the hallway, searching for his huge form, but he's already disappeared down another corridor or staircase. She tucks the gloves into her backpack, something to examine for later, and heads to her next class.


	2. Chapter 2

**.**

Rey is slow to leave apartment number 7 the next time she delivers their pizza. Her car is parked in front of apartment 2, and she walks all the way down the sidewalk past Ben's door instead of through the parking lot. He's been sitting next to her in polisci every class period now, though he never says a word except when Dr. Organa ( _his mother_ ) calls on him. Rey wears his jacket on all her deliveries, only slipping it off when she goes into the kitchen because it isn't regulation. (All the other drivers wear other coats when they're delivering, so she doesn't feel bad about it; the corporate jackets aren't warm enough.)

Rey passes apartment 2 without incident. She takes the steps slowly and is depositing the pizza carrier onto the passenger seat when she decides she has a legitimate reason to bother Ben. Hopping back up the steps, before she loses her nerve, Rey knocks on his door.

The cologne smell has nearly faded from the jacket—or maybe it has completely. Maybe the memory of it is just strong enough that she can imagine she smells it. Either way, Rey breathes deeply the scent of the collar one last time before straightening up and trying to look casual.

She's raising her hand in indecision, unsure whether to knock again or give up, when the door swings wide and she's greeted by the sight of a very shirtless Ben.

"Rey," he says her name quietly, looking mildly surprised.

"Um—" Rey casts about for something _else_ to look at, feeling her face heating up. Ben's hair is damp from the shower and he's wearing some kind of athletic pants. The light scar that cuts down his face continues down his chest, she notices, the scar tissue shining silver. And there's the matter of—well—hence the need to look somewhere _else_. Rey is so shocked by the sight of his perfect, toned chest—his broad shoulders, the muscles of his upper arms, the dark nipples dotting his pectorals—

Her eyes land on the upside-down "2." "Your coat. I came to return it. I fixed the heater." Rey starts to shrug out of it, but Ben reaches out a hand to stop her.

"You've been wearing it? Besides tonight?" He seems pleased by the possibility.

"Well you wanted me to, didn't you?"

Ben doesn't answer for a long time. Rey catches herself staring at his bare chest and drops her gaze to her hands, where she worries the edges of the coat, ready to hand it over.

"You should hang onto it," he says, gently patting at her shoulder with a hand. "It suits you."

Rey just nods up at him. He's looking at her like—well, she's not sure what this look means. She's had men hit on her before, but Ben is too hard to read, too good at making his face blank, and she is—after all—dressed in ugly work clothes and smelling not-so-faintly of pizza. _Say something_ , she pleads with him silently, finally dropping her eyes when he shows no sign of doing just that.

"I have other deliveries," she mumbles.

Ben's hand squeezes her shoulder, then drops away. "Be safe," he tells her. Then he moves inside to close his door.

Even with the heater functioning and on full blast, Rey feels cold for the rest of the night.

 **.**

On an evening she doesn't have to work, Finn convinces her to drive him to the rec center. Poe is there to greet them and swipe their ID cards; and so Rey isn't surprised when Finn sets up in the weight room in direct view of the check-in desk. For the first fifteen minutes Rey fiddles with a few machines, but honestly she finds the machines boring. She'd rather do something with more purpose.

"I'll be around, okay?" she calls to Finn, indicating her cell phone before she commences to wandering. She's been to the rec center maybe a handful of times every year. It's part of her tuition, but she's always had work cutting into the time she might be doing anything else. Maybe she'll make it here more often later this year, she thinks idly as she passes the dance studios and cycling rooms. Maybe she'll take a group class. It's really something to get paid appropriately for your labor—something she wishes she'd realized sooner working for Plutt.

Rey tells herself her wandering is aimless, that she's looking for something to do—but she can't pretend she isn't hopeful when her feet carry her down the walkway into the adjoining ice arena. And she really can't pretend anything—can't hide from herself or what it is she's doing when she spots a jersey numbered "7" and picks up her pace.

There are a few people seated in the low stands around the public ice—girls resting and chattering, guys watching with semi-interest. The team is divided in two for practice, and Rey lets her feet carry her to a spot on the bleachers where she can watch. Hockey is really violent: a lot of crashing into one another, a surprising amount of shoving. She often loses sight of the puck—but it's not the puck that's most interesting here.

She knows he's wearing protective gear, but she just can't get over how massive Ben is. In class he looks uncomfortable, and certainly the desks in their classroom are contributing to that; but here on the ice his size is an asset. Now and again as the game goes on, there are shouts and cheers from the girls in the stands. One guy in a coat like the one Ben lent to her sits nearby, foot in a boot and a pair of crutches next to him, keeping up a steady stream of instructions and obscenities for his teammates. And though it's not a real game, Rey gets caught up in all of it: after Ben pushes between two players faster than she would've imagined and _whack_ s the puck perfectly to another player, she lets out an excited whoop of "Fuck 'em up, number seven!"

His head jerks up, the game momentarily forgotten, as he looks out into the bleachers, scanning them quickly until his eyes land on hers. The mask makes it hard for her to see his expression when he finds her, but she doesn't miss what happens next—a teammate slams into him, sending him crashing into the ice.

" _Shit!_ " Rey hisses. Her face heats up, though she's not sure who she's more embarrassed for.

One of the guys on the ice yells something, and the two halves of the same team swoop into separate huddles. Ben picks himself up and skates over into his huddle, but he clearly looks back in Rey's direction again before joining them.

 _Where tf are you?_ Rey's phone buzzes.

 _Ice arena_ , she texts Finn back.

 _I need some things from the grocery store and they close at 9. Do you think we can swing by?_

Rey sighs. She works at 9, and that might be cutting it close. But Finn is a good friend and a decent roommate, and she doesn't mind helping him out. Besides, it's just as well—who knows when Ben's going to make another move or if he even will. He still doesn't make an effort to speak to her in Dr. Organa's class, though sometimes she swears she catches him looking away quickly, as if he'd been watching her. Either she's been grossly misinterpreting every interaction with him, she tells herself, or he's _painfully_ awkward.

"Hey Rey!" Finn is calling her, flagging her down from the nearest entrance.

"Coming," she calls, standing to go, looking over her shoulder at the ice one last time. The guys are coming in, taking a break. Ben takes off his helmet and his mane of hair is slick with sweat, falling around his face in a funny, mussed way. It's still hot as hell. He looks directly at her like he has something to say and skates in her direction, but there's still the low wall and glass partitions between them.

"Rey! Did you get my text?" Finn is nearly right in front of her.

"Yeah! Sorry! We'll go," Rey says, putting a hand on his shoulder and steering Finn back toward the door. She looks up at Ben, giving him an apologetic wave. "Sorry," she calls, "I have work."

 **.**

"So who's your boyfriend?"

Rey blanches.

Ben's glowering down at her, staring daggers. It's— _ridiculous_.

"Excuse me?" she says, taking a step back, holding the pizza carrier just out of reach. She's wearing his coat like always, but the abrupt, angry way he's just answered the door has put her off the sweet feeling she gets when she remembers the night he draped it around her. His tone is way out of line.

Ben clenches his jaw. "You could've _said_ something. 'Don't give me your coat, Ben, I'm taken.' But—"

"I hate that. 'Taken.' Like someone can just _claim_ me. And also I'm _not_ , so I don't know where you get off—"

"People don't just _casually_ touch each other like—you can pretend it's not—"

Rey suddenly realizes what he's referring to, and she can't help it—she laughs. "You mean Finn."

Ben doesn't see the humor.

"At the rec? That was my roommate Finn. Who may or may not be not-so-secretly dating our other _male_ roommate, Poe."

Ben is quiet, the anger melting out of his expression.

"He's gay, Ben," Rey explains, somewhat unnecessarily.

Ben shoves his hands in his pockets and suddenly becomes very interested in the floor.

"But Ben, also?" A little frustrated edge creeps back into Rey's voice. "What makes you think you can interrogate me about him?"

"I'm sorry," Ben huffs. "I was out of line."

 _This is when you admit how jealous you are_ , Rey thinks at him, expectant, _and ask me on a date_. But Ben just stands there, propping up the doorway, refusing to meet her eyes.

"Okay then," Rey says, and turns to get back in the car. She's backing out of the space when she realizes she never even gave him the pizza he ordered, so she rushes back to the door, knocking frantically.

"Sorry!" she apologies breathlessly, handing over the box.

"It's fine," he reassures her with a noncommittal shrug. "I forgot too."

 **.**

Rey decides she's going to have to take matters into her own hands. The opportunity comes soon, on a day Dr. Organa dismisses class a couple of minutes early.

"Hey, Ben," Rey taps him on the arm, "Here." She passes him a little pastel sticky note, which he takes, hesitantly.

"I'm giving you my phone number," she explains, making the little joke she kept rehearsing in her mind, "so you don't have to order pizza whenever you want to see me." She offers him a smile that's ten times more confident than she feels.

Ben swallows visibly and drops his eyes to his satchel. "Thanks," he grunts quietly, gathering it up by the handle and standing to leave.

For her part, Rey remains there frozen for a moment. Of course there was a part of her that liked to think it was more than a coincidence that he's been such a frequent customer, almost as frequent as the guys in number seven—but Ben's reaction has all but confirmed it.

She's leaving the building for her next class in a hopeful, giddy haze when she grabs for her phone out of habit. Already she has two texts from an unfamiliar number:

 _Hi._

 _It's Ben_

 **.**

 **Whee! One chapter left! I'm really amusing myself writing awkward!Ben and I appreciate y'all coming along for the ride.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the reads, follows, and comments; and sorry it's so short. I have some other AUs in the works, so I was really pleased and surprised by the reaction to this story. Anyway—now for the gooey conclusion!**

 **.**

"Maybe I _should_ order a pizza." That's how he greets her a week later in Dr. Organa's class, sliding into his usual desk, sending her a regretful but otherwise warm expression.

"I mean, maybe," Rey grumbles, offering a thin smile. They've been texting a little every day—a little chitchat but mostly attempting to find a time outside of class when they can actually be in the same place at the same time. It's as if they have exactly opposite schedules: she's free but he has hockey; he's free but she has work; she's got an afternoon but he had to go out of town; he's got the whole evening but she has to attend a review session for an exam. The stupid thing is he hasn't even suggested what they'll do when they _are_ both free—so Rey doesn't know if he intends to take her out to dinner, or just to get a cup of coffee, or… nothing at all.

She glances at him during the lecture, whenever she can get away with it, as if the answers to her questions will appear on his face. Through their texts she's gotten to know little things about him, endearing details like his passion for classical music (he can't listen to certain pieces late in the evening or he'll be too wired to sleep), his penchant for trivia (he'll casually send her an odd fact in mid-conversation in a way that Rey _knows_ he didn't Google it), his weird thing about canned food (something about the can disgusts him). He's able to have a conversation via text, to say genuinely interesting things instead of the usual vague answers that devolve into mindless innuendo. He's just interesting, period—unlike most people Rey has ever exchanged texts with, Ben never says he's doing "nothing."

It's so refreshing it's dangerous. Rey knows that she's moved past physical attraction at this point: gone are the days when Ben was just the hot guy in polisci. Now she's coming to know him as a person, little by little, and she'd be stupid not to admit to herself how scary that is. With a few notable exceptions, whenever Rey starts to get close to other people, they usually let her down.

 _Are you really that busy?_ she thinks at Ben. _I mean maybe we both just had a crazy week. But would you tell me if you weren't actually interested? Would you tell me if you were?_

But Dr. Organa keeps lecturing, and Ben doesn't look up from his notebook.

When class ends, he sends Rey a quick apologetic look as he hurries out the door (he has to cross two quads in ten minutes, and even with his long legs it's a bit frantic); and Rey finds she has a text from Finn.

 _Hey were you super cold when you got up this morning?_

 _Yeah, I guess_ , she answers. She hadn't thought about it until now, but it was definitely colder than usual. She's settling into her next class when she gets the next text:

 _Thanks just checking. Heat is busted. Poe's calling the manager_

Rey sighs. It's that kind of day.

 **.**

It's half an hour after midnight when she finally gets home. The first thing she notices is the living room is fucking _freezing_. She goes to the thermostat, checks that the heat is on, and belatedly remembers Finn's text. So they didn't get around to fixing it— _great_.

The next thing Rey notices is that she has no idea where her phone is. She reaches into one pocket, then another, then her backpack and her tote bag of school clothes before she goes to check her car. As she rummages around under the seats, she tries to remember the last time she used or looked at it and she can't. Her deliveries were all places she knows well, so she didn't need her GPS. She's beginning to worry that the phone fell out of her pocket at a delivery or in the kitchen when her hand bumps into something under the passenger seat.

It's been on silent and she has five messages—two from Ben, two from Finn, one from Poe. She reads Poe's first, marked 6:12 p.m.— _hey Rey we don't have water_. Finn reiterates this: _Rey the water's out. They said a pipe broke. Won't get fixed tonight_. Some time later, he adds, _Maybe stay with Rose or something it's miserable at home. Poe and I are staying with one of his friends._ Then Rey opens the messages from Ben: _Honestly I might get a pizza_. A couple of hours later, _Rey?_

 _Sorry. I wasn't trying to ignore you_ , she texts Ben, even though it's late. _Worst day._

 _Worst why?_ Rey hasn't even finished taking the steps to the third floor when he answers.

 _Among other things, came home just now to no heat and no water._ Send.

Rey goes to Rose's name and starts texting her, mentally running the logistics: she'll have to leave before 7 a.m. to avoid getting a ticket for parking in Rose's dorm lot. Does Rose have an air mattress? Rey doesn't have one herself, and the dorm beds are super narrow. Is it better to sleep on the floor in a warm place with running water or sleep in her own bed with no water and no heat? _And_ she'll need flip-flops for the community bathrooms. She sighs. _Hey Rose_ ,

 _Do you need a place to stay tonight? You can stay with me_.

Ben's text pops up on the screen, interrupting her message to Rose. Rey swallows.

 _I have class in the morning but you won't bother me._

She tries to finish the text to Rose. Instead she erases it, opening her conversation with Ben. She gets another new message:

 _I keep it clean and you'll like my bed. Really comfortable pillow top on the mattress_

It's cold in the apartment, but the shiver Rey gets isn't from the chill. She stares at her phone open-mouthed, turning over options in her head. Suddenly he's become _very_ forward, which, while surprising, is more the kind of thing she'd expected from someone as handsome as he is.

She hesitates. A part of her is shouting _finally, finally, finally_ , but another part is remembering the time Rose dated a guy who only texted her late at night, who only wanted to sleep with her, who pretended she didn't exist outside their trysts. Already he's different from that picture, but she can't help but worry— _Is that what Ben is doing?_

She thinks of the intensity with which he spoke to her waiting on the steps, his urgent tone and sincere expression. He'd cared about why he'd offended her, cared that her hands were cold. She remembers how he had draped her in his coat—how, even, he'd probably ordered pizza just to get her to come back, to get the chance to take care of her. And of course there were the gloves he bought her. Certainly Rose's guy wasn't this tender, this considerate—plus he'd texted like a moron. Ben is light years better on that front—though if he could manage to actually speak about his feelings for _once_ that would really help her out.

Rey remembers, too, the sweet smell of Ben's cologne on the collar of the coat. His bare chest, the hard lines of his muscles, the tight athletic pants and the delicate scar and her own secret disappointment that the pants weren't slung any lower, didn't reveal a trail of hair leading past his navel. Rey imagines standing under a hot shower pressed into his chest, the skin of her back flush with him as he reaches down lazily with a soapy hand, caressing her lean body as he kisses the base of her neck—

 _Ok_ , she texts back. She's just hit "send" when several other messages arrive rapid-fire:

 _Wait, fuck, sorry_

 _That sounds different from what I mean_

 _I'll be sleeping on the couch_

 _Sorry_

Rey isn't sure whether she's more disappointed, relieved, or embarrassed—disappointed because he didn't mean it that way, relieved for the same reason because that would honestly be moving pretty fast, embarrassed because if he's watching his phone he'll be able to figure out that she thought she was agreeing to—something else.

 _It's ok_ , she writes back. _Is five minutes enough advance warning?_ In her bedroom she strips out of her work clothes, changing back into the clothes she was wearing earlier to class. She pulls out some fresh underwear, her one pair of matching pajamas, and an outfit for the next morning. She slips into the bathroom to gather her toothbrush and face soap and then her phone chimes— _You can come over whenever_ , Ben has said.

Rey flicks off the lights and hurries down to the car with her bag, locking the door behind her. She wears Ben's jacket, even though she's done working—just because she can.

Ben opens the door just after she knocks, like he was waiting for her. "Come in," he says, taking her bag for her, and Rey shuffles forward. He's wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt and actual plaid pajama pants. He smells like soap, and as he brushes past her to close the door she feels a little thrill at their brief contact.

His apartment is immaculate. Everything clean and dusted, everything in its place. He has dark, tasteful furniture that suggests he doesn't shop on a college student budget and, except for his satchel and a duffel bag heaped under the kitchen counter, the spare, tasteful artwork and minimal decorative elements give the whole place the impression of being straight out of a catalogue. "How long have you lived here?" Rey asks.

"Since freshman year. I took a couple of years off and had to take a victory lap, so—six, seven years? Follow me," he answers as he takes her bag down the short hallway. At the last minute, Rey steps out of her shoes, not wanting to track any slush across the nice clean tile floor. The rest of the apartment doesn't disappoint—nor does the view of his ass in the pajama pants. _All this time_ , she thinks, _I never would've thought I had a thing for pajama pants_.

"I just finished laundry tonight, so the sheets are really fresh," Ben explains as she comes into the bedroom, where the corners of the blankets on the bed have been turned down and a stack of clean, dark towels is folded neatly at one corner. "So are those towels. The bathroom's just across the hall, and there's a washer/dryer in the closet on the right if you needed it."

There's so much kindness here she almost can't bear it. There were foster homes Rey moved into that weren't half as nice as this—not just in terms of how much the furniture may have cost but even just the welcome she received, the thoughtful touches or lack thereof. She swallows against the emotion in her throat.

He turns to leave, not lingering to speak to her. "I've already been in the bathroom for the evening, so feel free. And I'll be in the living room if you need anything."

"Ben," Rey says faintly.

"Hm?"

She tries her hardest to keep the waver out of her voice. "This is… very kind. Thank you."

He's already leaving the room. "You're welcome."

Now alone in his room, Rey realizes she's losing steam fast. She texts Finn that she figured something out with "another friend," just so he doesn't worry, and carries her bag and the clean towels into the bathroom, hoping to speed through her routine and get to bed. The bathroom is predictably immaculate and smells like evergreen soap and aftershave—a nice, male smell. Rey undresses and reaches into her bag to pull out the toiletries case, but then she stops short.

There's nothing else in the bag.

Rey groans, retracing her steps mentally. Of course she remembered to put her toiletries in—they're right here—but somehow she left the clean clothes and underwear on the bed after she pulled them out.

She picks up her dirty clothes and looks them over—she was going to wear the leggings tomorrow anyway, but she knows they're not clean. They've been slush-splashed and outside all day as she walked between classes. Her socks are definitely gross. And her sweater, though comfortable, hasn't been washed in a few weeks. She's embarrassed by the idea of climbing into Ben's nice, clean sheets in her dirty clothes. She casts about the bathroom for an answer, but there's really only one thing to do.

"Ben?" she calls down the hallway, peering out of the bathroom door down the hallway.

"Yes?" he calls back. There's a lamp on in the living room—she sees his shadow before he steps out.

Rey clutches one of the towels around her, and she watches his face change minutely, then go back to neutral as he takes in her state of attire. She explains her predicament and he goes into his bedroom, promising he'll find her something and leave it outside the door.

When she's stepping into the tub, he knocks on the door to tell her he's found her some things. She's on edge, desperately trying _not_ to replay her earlier fantasy, and at the sound of his knock it's all she can do not to shriek. Instead she calls out a weak "thank you" and pulls the curtain closed behind her.

 **.**

It's after 1 a.m. when she emerges from the bathroom, but Rey can see Ben still seated on the couch, reading something in the lamplight. _Is he waiting up for me…?_ She deposits her things in his bedroom, slipping back out in the hallway quickly. They've forgotten to discuss the morning—what time he has to leave.

"Hey," she calls as she approaches.

"Did you—" He looks up and forgets his question, his mouth turning up the slightest bit as he takes in the sight of her in his clothes.

The t-shirt he's lent her is really soft—a white undershirt that's still the slightest bit warm from the drier. On Rey, the shirt is practically a dress, the sleeves reaching down her arms, the hem to her knees. Ben looks at her a long time without speaking.

"The, uh," she coughs in embarrassment, "the pants wouldn't stay up. Anyway, I—"

"Sorry."

"No, really, that's fine; I was dumb to forget. But—"

"No, I mean, sorry for…" Ben turns completely away from her, stretching his long legs the length of the couch. "Somehow I always say the wrong thing. I come on too strong. I had a nickname in high school—'Creepy Ben.'"

Rey scoffs.

"I'm—trying to be more self-aware. But I'm not very good at it."

Her heart goes out to him. "You're not _creepy_ ," Rey says, moving around the couch where he can see her. "You're—"

"'Intense?' That's the nice way of saying 'creepy.'"

"No," Rey says slowly. "I think… you're really very sweet."

"That's charitable of you."

"No, I really think you are!"

Ben eyes her warily from the couch.

"This couch isn't long enough for you to sleep on, is it?"

Ben shrugs. "You'd be surprised. Did you need something?"

Rey remembers her questions, and they talk logistics: Ben will get up for his 8 a.m. class. Rey's first class isn't until after noon, so she's welcome to stick around—Ben will be back before lunch. Otherwise Rey is welcome to leave early and lock up with his spare key, which he finds in a kitchen drawer and leaves out on the counter. They agree it's late, that they should be turning in, but neither of them makes a move to get to bed.

"Is everything else alright?" Ben's voice is quiet as they both hesitate to go.

Rey watches how he watches her, trying to find the feeling hidden in his stoic expression, thinking wishful things at him as she studies his full lips, his dark eyes, the lock of hair that's flopped just slightly forward to disrupt the symmetry of his face. She breaks their eye contact to drop her eyes to his lips, letting her gaze linger there before looking back up. It's decidedly _not_ subtle. _Isn't this what you want, too?_

"Rey," he breathes her name, leaning ever-so-slightly closer.

She raises a hesitant hand to his shoulder, smoothing across the seam of his t-shirt before cupping his face; he leans into her touch.

"Ben," she asks, "would you let me kiss you?"

He answers by doing—his lips crash down into hers, his arms go around her, and Rey can't swallow the pathetic little whimper that escapes her as she _finally_ gets what she wants. Her hands are in his hair, or smoothing across his back, or cupping his face; his mouth is everywhere, capturing one of her lips between his, nosing her damp hair aside to leave a trail of kisses that sear like fire down her neck. Rey groans against his mouth and he echoes the sound when she leaves delicate kisses along his jaw. But after a few moments, his urgency ebbs away; he presses a lingering kiss to her forehead and then pulls back, just slightly, looking down at her with wonder.

"I—that wasn't too much? It's just, I'd been imagining that for weeks now, and—"

 _Weeks!_ Rey ducks her head and giggles into his chest, slipping her arms down from around his neck to go around his waist. "Me too. No, it was—exactly what I hoped it would be." Something about his arms around her just feels like _home_. Maybe it's the faint smell of his cologne, which she's come to love in weeks of wearing his jacket. Maybe it's his body heat or the tautness of his muscles—he's like a fortress, a protector. Or maybe it's just that she finally _gets_ him, putting together what he said on the couch and now this: he's been holding back. He's been tiptoeing around her, trying not to scare her off, all the while fantasizing about her—well, maybe even as long as she's been thinking of him.

"I wanted to tell you," Ben smooths a hand down her back, "you're beautiful. You're _so_ fucking beautiful that not even a pizza uniform or a hoodie or some giant t-shirt can cover it up."

Rey hums happily, relaxing into his touch, and the exhaustion of the day returns, seeping down deep into her bones. She sighs. "And you're a very, _very_ handsome man. But Ben," she looks up at him, "I'm so tired I might fall asleep right here."

"Can we have dinner? Or something?" Somehow the man still looks anxious, like any wrong move could screw this up forever.

Well, Rey isn't going to stand for that. She smiles sleepily up at him, reaching a hand up to smooth briefly through his hair. "Yes, Ben. I'd love to have dinner with you. Just as long as it's not pizza and you don't mean right now." She rests her head back against his chest, closing her eyes.

"I haven't really dated before," he says.

"Ben, I like you." Rey rubs his back for a few seconds, trying to be reassuring. "Don't second-guess yourself so much. I like you a lot."

Presently he nudges at her to let go. Rey watches him hesitate the smallest bit before leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. She offers him a smile that says _yes, just like that_ , and his eyes warm in response. "Come on. I'll walk you down the hall."

When they reach the bedroom Rey has already made up her mind to convince him to join her in bed, and Ben's apparently made up his mind not to resist any of her suggestions. _Just_ sleep, she suggests, if only because she's so tired. He doesn't protest.

"This is nice," Rey says softly as she curls into him, lights off and covers drawn up to her shoulders.

His voice is low and quiet, sincere. "Maybe we should make it a repeat experience."

Rey reaches a hand up blindly until she finds his face, leaning up to kiss him sleepily on the jaw in agreement. "I think we should."

 **.**

Rey is jostled awake when Ben gets out of bed. She notices a persistent chiming sound—the alarm on his phone; he must've left it in the living room. The sound ends abruptly, and soon the bedroom door opens again. Ben drops his phone on the nightstand beside her and climbs back under the covers.

He opens his arm so Rey can settle into the crook of his shoulder; as she crawls back into place, she rests a hand on his chest and slings a leg comfortably over his. Then she notices the time, the bright red digital numbers standing out like a warning. "Ben, it's already 7:00. Don't you have…?"

He huffs in response, placing his free hand over hers. "Skipping today. I've got more important things to do."

Rey almost misses it—but she opens her eyes just in time to watch his stoic expression transform into a genuine smile. Snuggling into his shoulder, she smiles back.


End file.
